A keyboard for me?

I finally have a keyboard under these fingers again. 
Temporarily at least.
Right before I went to the hospital....long messy story...my laptop broke.
I might have had a little something to do with that. 
Seeing porn you think you know someone you care about in it changes the game a little bit in that regard.  And yeah, my laptop paid the price.
But I can still dictate to that phone thing at least.  Squeak out some of my thoughts in a slightly more ham-fisted way than previously.   But I still prefer the keyboard.  It feels a little more natural when trying to get my thoughts out in some sort of revisit able way. 
I was just looking over a couple of those pieces that I did as dictattion/texting.   Woof...I'll need to revisit those in the future and see if I can't suss out what I was trying to say so that it can be understood.  |Even knowing what it was supposed to say I had to scratch my head a couple of times for the lack of editing. 

Then again, I'm not really sure that a phone is the best way to get some of these thoughts out.
I try desperately to find some of that old chat-room magic.   You know, the exhilaration of speaking with people who could be anyone, anywhere.  I say speaking, when my fingers used to do all of the actual conversation in those places.

But I miss it. 
I miss this.
Well kind of this.
There are parts missing here.
The other side of the conversations.
The perspectives that would help shape my words into something more understandable.
The ideas that used to be thrown around with so much earnestness that you'd think actual world changing effects were happning.
And when I really think about it, they were.
I mean, I wouldn't be anywhere near the person I am today if it weren't for the thousands of strangers I conversed with in scroll of words that people left behind.

For those of you who have never been in an actual chat room I'll break it down for you the best that I can.
Think a website like Reddit or Facebook.
 Except no pictures and no videos, just text.  Because the internet couldn't handle the rest of that information with anything boarding on alacrity.
 Think a half hour or more to download a thirty second video.
Yeah, buffering wasn't really a thing then, or streaming. 
But more Reddit than Facebook because people didn't have to fill out their profile information, could have a hundred different user accounts.  And the maximum amount of chatters in any given "room" (read "server" for you gamers out there) was only a couple dozen at most.  Sometimes more when things got a little better.

For me though, those little havens of anonymity and storytelling where one of the few places I've ever felt safe in the world.  Which is funny because they are not a physical places.  Just a digital space that my mind would play in while sitting somewhere less than desirable in the real world. 

Funny how easy it is to ignore the grit and grime of your world when there is someone typing out their thoughts on the grit and grim in their world.  Or, even better and where I spent most of my time in the digital landscape, were the RP chatrooms.  Where chatters would take turns typing out paragraph long descriptions of their characters actions.  Would hold court, fight duels of honor, train with hallowed warriors, travel, visit, love, loose, and laugh all to the clacking of a keyboard.

That is what I really miss about coatrooms and why, as a gamer, I get so frustrated with MMORPGs.  'Cause, from my experiences with them so far they should just be called MMRGs.  Leveling does not a role playing game make.  Taking on a character and trying to act with in their moral guidelines, holding conversations as that characters, and slowly building a reputation for that character. 
That is role playing.
Compelling characters, sweeping backdrops, telling stories.  
That's role playing to me.
That's why I miss chat rooms.
Because as a chatter, and with a couple of other people dedicated to their character(s) an entire novel could be written in a night or two.
And that's what I want to see again. 
Writing.
 From me.
 From my friends.
From my compatriots.
And from there, who knows. 
But at least getting some real writing done again will be nice.
That social media crap is for the birds.  
Yeah, I'll keep posting pictures and stuff so that people can check in on me if they feel so inclined, but I'll be damned if I'm going to live my life on the damned thing anymore. 
Because social media is not chat rooms. 
There's more scrolling and less interaction.
Less need for language.
Less need for stretching these here fingers over some keys for an evening. 
And hopefully finding a handful others that might have the same though.
But until then.

I find a ship.
I find a job.
And then I keep her flying.
And that's about all there is to it.

Holidays....amiright?

A
So happy holidays.

I hate wishing people happy holidays.

Because for me, for so many years, the holidays always started around July and ended somewhere in the neighborhood of May.

I love Christmas though, and Hannukah. And every other winter holiday under the book.

Mostly because spring holidays and Fall holidays usually surround working; working your ass off or enjoying the fruits of working your ass off.

Summer holidays usually  revolve around either starting or preventing fires.

Winter holidays, those are the ones where you're just grateful to be alive. Just grateful to have the opportunity to share a story with another person.

At least that's how it was for me before the modern age spilled over into the physical world.  In the modern world you get pretty bad storms from time to time but mostly it's just a minor inconvenience rather than the months-long shut in  one  might have experienced just a few short decades ago.

Now.

it's about finding excuses to stay home, finding reasons to slow down the pace of the world for a little while to enjoy the company that one may have. Friends or family or pets.

Or not.

Me personally, I usually go for the or not. Mostly because a lot of people always say never forget 9/11...

can't believe it's in my phone even

When the truth is for those that had to deal with and experienced it as a  real part of their day had to deal with it through the holidays. After everyone else had changed the channel.

Hard truths about that: is that there is no Channel changing button in real life. And when those things are part of your everyday a person  can watch it, help it, or get out of the way.
Me?
I roll my sleeves up.

For me holidays '01 meant standing long vigils waiting for planes to come in the middle of the night. Picking up shifts so that my friends with families could spend that time at home with theirs. And somewhere along the way, trying to find little ways to make people smile in spite of everything that the world was trying to throw at that point in time.

Now: means trying desperately to become comfortable with crowds again and coping with chronic pain throughout most of my body.

Luckily I have a strong support network around me. One I didn't even know was there until I fell down. One that I continue to avoid even though it has caught me each time I've stumbled since.

I can be pretty bull headed.
But always thankful.
And I still light my candles.

A few days later.

~~ Eliant-21-1362dr

Nethentier

Dusk falls on a fetid harbor washed blessedly clean by a cool rain that gave the harbor a glow like fire as the setting sun dipped below the storm clouds and quickly sliding below the horizon.  The docks bustled with newly arrived sailors hurrying to move cargo to the warehouses and themselves to their warm meals.   The captain counted out their pay for the work they had done on the journey and offers to pay a couple of the smaller coins in the remaining pile to help finishing unload the remaining cargo.  After the work is done they say their farewells to some of the more jovial crew members and head off to their favorite haunts.   A stout Jovial shadow shouts over towards the group  that the "Gurgling Mermaid" would serve as well as any other dive on the waterfront if they didn’t find anything better.   The time of day tells them that pickings may be slim at this hour so they head down the winding cobblestone street in the direction indicated.  

The partys footsteps splash through shallow puddles that hide in the shadows of multi-storied building further down the waterfront a violent splash draws Arinel's attention to a sack hurling through the air.  Sea weed and moss land with a distinctive slap on the stones at  the elven womans feet.  She carefully opens it, making room for Rin to see as she does. Inside are several fresh cuts of fish, freshwater, mussels and a beautiful clam-shell case The cases gold clasp glistens cheerily in the light from a nearby common house.

The archer reaches in and pulls the case out of the other contents, shaking away bits of loose seaweed. Her long delicate fingers open the case with a satisfying click between her fingers allowing the lid to fall back and reveal a small trove of silver and pearls with a large sapphire nestled comfortably in the strange fabric of the clam-shell interior.   They continue on their way to the appointed "inn" and were greeted by a lewd sign of a mermaid and a fisherman. The diminutive cleric shrugs and waves the party to follow before through the garishly painted front door.

After bartering for a clean room, the matron of the house claimed it a bargain prices at the ridiculous price before pointing out that the only reason she had an available room was because one of her girls had given birth that morning. And told them they were welcome to try some of the more prim establishments up the road. The small cleric paid the coin and moved as quickly as he could to the room. The parties heads swiveled as they followed.

After finding their appointed room Rock looks the plush accommodations over with wry twist at the corner of his eyes before calling down a blessing to cleanse the bed. After the blessing is complete, the incense still hanging cloingly in the air, Rock began stringing up his hammock between two of it's posts while Arienel and Evie strip the bed of it's coverings and then lay their own bedrolls over the top. The pair get comfortable sleeping face to foot while Rin and Arian take up space on the floor.

You Tease

~~Elient-20-1362dr

*The middle of lake Umber*

The cool air of early morning worked better than a cup of gnomish tea for Rin. The fighter continued stretching as he looked out over the landscape.  His shoulders making a satisfying crackling.  The elfs sharp eyes caught sight of an overturned boat not far out from shore.  It’s underbelly rising and falling behind the waves as it bobbed in place.  As Rin looked closer he could just see the netting amongst the wriggling mass of fish Rins eyes spot a hand reaching above the surface.

Without hesitation the warrior elf clamps a dagger between his teeth and begins stripping his armor off.

Evie, the diminutive bookkeeper,  catches sight of the elf as he dives into the water and calls to the rest of the crew. Aranel, her own elven eyes drawn  the capsized vessel by the warriors splashes  leaps into the cold ocean water. . The two elves arrive at the overturned fishing dingy within moments of one another.   With knife and teeth they tear at the netting and are pushed back by an an explosion of fish as the net gives way.
From the tangle of slimy fish a grizzled merman swims away to the confusion of the elves.

Jesus Saves...for half damage.

First Son drew his focus from the doorway to each of the small feeds that ringed his vision. In his lower right was the roto drone Sally, straining with all of its power to keep itself airborne mere centimeters now from the ground. With quick movements from his hand, he gave it the command to turn and face backwards while it followed him out. He checked Sally's ammo loadout, noting she still A little cyber punk offering...

had a little over 60 rounds left.

Judith, hovering just inside the doorway, was scanning the interior of the room for viable targets. Judith was a nasty girl and had done most of the killing, leaving her with a sparse 35 rounds. He switched her fire mode over to single shot and plotted a course back out to the van with the command to stay within a meter of him at any given time.

Ronaldo and Caesar, the two little fly-spies, were perched on the wall and ceiling of the path out, monitoring the various doors and service lifts that let into the body of the club. First Son noted that they were clear save for the bodies of the Ancients who had been between he, the hovering ladies, and Jade.

His stomach turned a small flip thinking about what he had seen. Her eyes, her skin, all of the blood. It looked and smelled so real. Worse than a BTL, because he couldn't shut this one off. The metallic tang wouldn't leave his senses no matter how hard he tried. The sound of his own teeth gritting brought him back to the moment. He took a deep breath, doing his best to ignore the smell of copper and keep from shaking. Then, with almost steady hands, he released the clip in his auto pistol, slipped the over-half-spent thing into his pocket, and loaded a fresh magazine.

First Son flitted over the video feeds once more while sending a boot command to little Carlita outside the club. A panda popped up into view and held up a sign saying “loading” where her vid stream would appear. With a deep breath, he gave Judith the move command and started out the door. Ronaldo and Caesar still showed the way out as clear, but First Son kept his finger twitching on the auto pistol’s trigger.

Stepping over two bodies that Judith had chewed to pieces outside the door, he paused for a moment, eyes lingering on one of the elf’s faces. He seemed... familiar, but First Son couldn't place where he knew the man from. It was all so... real. There was no shutting this off, no escaping from it. Actual blood was on his shoe. He noted as he walked forward that the bottom of his soles were coated in the stuff and left his own prints on the black pads of the club’s dance floor. He would have to buy new shoes, eventually.

A panda popped into Sally's feed looking worried and holding a sign saying “Bad Guy”. An elf sporting a blue mohawk and a nasty snarl was coming through the kitchen door, partially hidden by a booth in the way. Sally didn't have a shot - stuck so low to the floor as she was - but still the little motors on her belly-mounted machine gun strained to target him. Too late. The elf fired.

White hot pain bloomed in the middle of First Son's back and knocked the wind from his lungs.

“FUCK!” he yelled as he pitched forward and bounced off of a table to land hard on the ground. Dermal plating and the reinforced Kevlar weave of his jacket kept the bullet from puncturing him, but the kick was a bitch. His own vital readouts confirmed his suspicions as his vision came back. That cute little panda informed him (while adjusting a pair of golden reading glasses) that the combination of plating and kevlar would stop bullets without a problem. But Christ on a cracker, it still hurt!

As these thoughts ran through the hacker’s mind, Judith turned and fired a short burst. The elf had seen her in time to dive to the side. He landed with his head exposed to Sally. She groaned from weight and shifted to the right, and in a moment the elf was nearly split in two from belly to head.

Pushing himself to his knees, First Son kept his head down and checked Ronaldo and Caesar to make sure the way was still clear. As he was doing so, Carlita's little panda held up a sign saying “ready to go” and then First Son disappeared into a yellow smoke cloud, revealing a low angle of the street outside. There were three elves dressed in fine suites coming in from a side alley, just visible to him from around the edge of a tire. Two carried SMGs, their elongated banana magazines curving away beneath them. The third elf carried a double-barreled street sweeper. An archaic weapon, but effective enough to chew through most armor at short range.

First Son saw the elf with the street sweeper making gestures in the air with his hands. On a hunch, the young hacker scanned incoming and outgoing frequencies, and there it was. Mr. Street Sweeper was scanning and moving around interior cameras. Still recovering from the slug to his back, First Son picked up the feed the elf was tapped into and saw himself from third person, sitting kneeled on the floor.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself to his feet and pulled a running animation from the matrix, transposing it over the feed and showed an image that at first glance looked like him running towards the front door. Mr. Street Sweeper took the bait. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum opened up with their SMG's at the door. Daylight punctured through the steel plating.

“Carlita. Deliver your present,” First Son said aloud while giving the command. Carlita's visual changed as she scuttled forward towards the backs of the three elves. In the her feed, a small feeler reached out and poked at Mr. Street Sweepers leg.

Outside, the elf felt a pinch on his leg and he looked down. At his foot was a small drone, about the size of a roach, carrying a solid ounce of plastic. His scream was lost in the SMG fire and Mr. Street Sweeper almost swore the little drone saluted him before the world exploded.

Carlita's feed went blank in First Son's vision at the same time that a tremendous roar blew the club’s front doors off of their hinges sending the holy portals skittering across the dance floor carrying bits of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum with them.

Fist Son nodded to the two drones flanking him. “Let's go, ladies,” he pronounced with the most bravado he could muster through the pain of the gunshots. He squelched through what was left of the trio as he pushed his way outside. His stomach turned as Sally's rotoblades sent gooey blood and small bits flying while she hovered over the street towards the van. First Son called Ronaldo and Caesar back as he opened the back door of Face’s van and lowered the ramp. Sally settled into the belly of it and he made his way to the cab while Judith secured herself to the roof.

Through the entire drive, First Son fought to keep himself together; fought to keep the realities of the situation from making it through the SIM filter that he usually saw these things through. It stayed with him - the smell, the feel of his foot slipping in blood. The fact that Jade was nestled inside of Sally's metallic body, burnt and...eyeless, to a degree. He focused himself on driving, building a completely new alias, and having that alias order a medi lift team to meet him at the safe house. They were paid triple to bring everything needed to treat the wounds he had seen on Jade and keep their mouths shut about it. Then, with the van on autopilot, he set about the grim task of rigging up Rosa, Carlita's twin, with a present to make sure the docs took what they saw of their patient to the grave.

Three hours later they arrived at the safe house.

Meet the Mechanic

An excerpt I wrote from an old Zombie Game I was in.

Paint scraped on the concrete barrier as Denny maneuvered the massive black truck around his companions.

Thump. Thump.

“Sorry about that sarge…erm…corporal…uh, army guy.” The big man chuckled.  He spared a glance at Jake in the back, still laying in the seat  but clutching a shotgun in a white knuckle grip.  He looked a little green around the gills.  “Alright kid, get ready to pop the doors and get those two in here.”  The truck skidded in the dirt as Denny cranked the wheel hard to the side, sending the back end whipping around to create a shield of dust and steel between flying darts with Fernando and Natasha

      

Denney’s shotgun, butt against his forearm, kicked as it coughed hot lead at the biohazard clad attackers.  Two went down in crumpled heaps and satisfying mists of blood as their chests bloomed open red.  “That’s your cue kid.” Denny laughed gleefully over his shoulder, already breaching the shotgun to pop two more shells into its barrels.

The big man heard the back door pop open just as he noticed Fernando running around the front of the truck.  “What the fuck you crazy fool, get in the damned truck!”  But the mercenary was already letting his rifle jump in his hands to take down another of their attackers.

      

A dart stuck firmly into Fernandos neck, he stumbled, slumped to his knees, and fell face first into the dirt.  “Shit, cove-“

Reflexively Denny ducked as the sound of a shotgun firing pounded the roof of his truck, the tell tale chick-chack of another round being pumped into the chamber, followed by another shot booming overhead.  “Holy shit kid! I knew you had a swingin’ dick between yer legs!” Denny laughed as he dove out of the truck, scooped up Fernando like a bale of hay and heaved his unconscious form past the steering wheel and into the passenger's seat.  “Watch yer head Pooch!”

        Denny hopped back into the drivers seat of his truck and pulled it closed as darts pinged off of the already scratched paint.  Slamming the massive black beast into gear and revving the engine with one foot on the brake pedal the Big Man looked back at Jake. “Get yer ass back in here kid, it’s time to hit the skids.”  He whipped his head back around as he was letting off of the break and immediately slammed his foot back down on it.  Zander, a syringe with a wickedly long needle clamped in his teeth, was bent over  a hazmat suited body trying to strip it. “What the fuck?”  

Denny took a long, long look at Zander.  This was the same person that had blew the head of a zombie off  that Denny had been tangled up with. The exploding head had spewed  zombie blood all over his welding clothes and nearly lost  Denny his Face. He was right in front of the truck.  Denny revved the engine again, and started to let tension off of the breaks.  Voices chattered on the CB but Denny couldn’t hear them over the rushing of blood in his ears.

Another volley of darts pinged off of the truck and a barely audible “Shit” followed.  Pooch whined and Denny slammed the truck back into park and leaned hard on the horn.  Zanders head snapped up and Denny gave him an exaggerated shrug to say “What the hell?”  Zander ducked as another round of darts whizzed through the air then ran at the truck.

Denny looked back just in time to see Jake falling none too gracefully from his perch on the back running board to the ground.  “Damn it kid” Denny grunted as the passenger door of his truck flew open and a wild eyed Zander turned Fernando over and jabbed the wicked looking needle into the mercenaries sternum.

Fernandos’ eyes flew open and he sat up with an audible gasp that drowned out more chatter over the CB.  “Remind me to get one of those from you later.” Denny giggled “Now get your ass in the truck.” Denny growled before diving headlong over the back seat to grab Jake by the pant leg and haul him back into the truck. More inaudible chatter sounded over the CB while Denny pulled the back door closed and scrambled back into the drivers seat.

A bright light from the sky flooded in through the front window of the truck at the same times as  a voice came over the CB.  Outside the voice was echoed by a loudspeaker version of it’s self that cut through the sound of thudding chopper blades. “Lay down your arms, surrender, and come out one at a time with your hands over your heads, or you will be destroyed.”    

Denny snatched the CB’s antiquated handset from its cradle on the dash. “FUCK YOU!”  he screamed.  In response a giant snake hissed and a gout of fire and earth erupted just in front of the truck.  Clods of dirt rained down on the windshield and hood.

Fernando put a hand on Dennys arm. “Ah, I think we should maybe do what they ask my friend.” He said before slowly opening the door and stepping down from the truck.

Dennys’ breath came rapid and shallow.  His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, and the CBs handset creaked from pressure.   Blood pounded in his ears.  He looked down at the shotgun on the floor, locked and loaded. Then he saw Pooch, curled up under the dash and pushing herself as far back into the darkness as she could. Pooch looked at Denny with pleading eyes while giving off short high pitched whines.  Denny looked over his shoulder at Jake slumped and slumbering in the back seat.

With a shaking hand Henry reached up and took Denny’s face off and set it on the dash.  He stepped out of the truck and looked around. The smell of blood, burnt hair, and rotting flesh were pervasive in the desert night. The light was so bright, unfiltered by the dirty lens on the welders mask and the carnage he and the others had wrought shone in the stark flood light from the helicopter. Blood seeping from the gaping shotgun wounds that had shredded plastic and flesh alike was being quickly absorbed by the thirsty desert ground.  The resignation on Fernando and Zanders faces was noticeable as they were surrounded by guns trained on them from the darkness, cuffed, hooded and lead off to the line of vehicles that had just moments ago spewed the Hazmat suited people into the desert night.

A cold desert breeze cut through the air stirred by the chopper blades and chilled the sheen of perspiration on Henry Denmores forehead.  People were talking at him, yelling, guns were being pointed at him. Why? He hadn’t done anything.  The world went dark and Henry was shuffled along and put into a car.

It was almost comforting, the darkness.  A weight on his forehead almost like the straps of Denny’s face, but not quite.  If he listened closely Henry could almost hear Denny breathing. But it didn’t echo right, didn’t fill his ears in the same way, it wasn’t Denny.  Why was he being treated like this? So roughly? All he had done was let Denny drive.  Let Denny get them out of Winslow alive.  Denny was the one who had bashed the head of the gnashing teeth zombies in. Denny had slammed a still hot support strut into Jimmys’ head when Jimmy had crawled, his throat ripped open, through his own blood trying to take a bite out of Denny.   Denny did those things.  Not him.

He was Henry.  Henry had a blown out a knee senior year of high school.  Henry was the one that had to have his moms help just to pass the basic math class at the community college so he could go to the trade school.   Henry went to the dinner off of Highway 40 every night and drank until he passed out and slept it off in the truck.  Granted Denny came out sometimes when Henry drank, but usually only when Henry put Denny’s face on.  

Denny was an artist.  Denny built cars, modded engines, did amazing body work.  Denny built monster cars for the demolition derby outside of Flag Staff.  If it had an engine in it Denny could fix it, make it better, make it whatever he wanted. Denny made a lot of money that kept Henry drunk.  Drunk enough he didn’t feel the pain in his leg, drunk enough Henry didn’t hear his mom yelling up the stairs that he needed to find a woman and get the hell out of her house.    That is; she yelled until Henry shoved a wad of Denny’s cash in her hands for the bills, or the doctor, or groceries, or any other damned thing she thought she needed money for.

Bright light flooded Henry's eyes and he blinked as the hood was ripped off of his head.  He was in the elevator, with those people, the killers.  His arms were tight and sore. Henry shrugged his shoulders and there was a pop behind his back, his arms fell loosely to his side and the tension in his shoulders relaxed.

The guy with the accent was talking at him.  Asking Denny a question, but Denny wasn’t there. Just him, just Henry. Washed up, burnt out, Henry.  Old “could have gone pro if it wasn’t for my knee” Henry.  

The elevator dinged its floor and they were led into a lab.  There was something with needles and colors.  He was yellow, yellow like a coward.  Henry bet Denny would be green, green like money.  Or red, red like blood.  Man he was thirsty, could use a bit of Wild Turkey. He’d even settle for one of those piss tasting beers that seemed to come out of the tap warm even in the dead of winter.  

Denny had gotten him a flask at the truck stop, but that was in Dennys truck, in the center console.  They had booze at the truck stop.  Henry would have been happy staying there with the people coming and going, bringing in booze and pills, and other things that kept the pain away and let Henry forget about this fucked up new world that Denny seemed to love so much.

Henry was shuffled off and put into a cell.  He sat on the bed inside and stared the floor.  Denny loved this world, this new world where monsters roamed and tried to eat you.  Where Denny got to smash peoples heads with his wrench and blast people with shotguns.  Denny had wanted to go with these people, these killers with their helicopter and guns.  Henry's eyes started to droop.  He could sleep, sleep kept the pain away, usually.  At least it would get him away from this fucked up world for a little while.

Henry let his head fall to the bed and soon he drifted off to sleep and in a dream an announcer boomed over the loudspeaker. “It looks like number 32 is down and he’s not getting up.  Henry “Denny” Denmore is down ladies and gentlemen and he’s clutching at his knee.  The ref is calling out the trainer to see how bad it is…”

~~~~~~~~~~

The ref blew his whistle and called the kick return done.  Henry put his helmet on and Denny stepped out onto the field.  The QB called the play and they took up positions quickly trying to keep the Defense on their heels.  The Hike came and Denny surged forward.

Denny tightened his gut and let the pigskin slam into his midsection before he clamped his arms down around it in an iron grip.  Without breaking stride he curled the fingers of his right arm over the hard pointed tip and tucked the ball into the crook of his elbow so.  With practiced ease he danced through the wall of linemen pushing against one another.  

The world stopped and slowed as Dennys right foot touched down on the old fashioned grass field that the Bulldogs called home. Ahead and to the right the safety had seen him slip through and was diving towards him.  To his left the Middle Linebacker was peeling himself away from the crush of linemen and lowering his shoulder.  Dennys right foot took his weight and immediately he highstepped the flying Safety.  His left foot settled down into the grass and the Safetys shoulder pad slammed into Denneys shin, at the same moment the Linebacker put his full weight into a shoulder pad that connected solidly just above Denneys left knee.  

There was a snapping and popping like when a chicken leg is being ripped from the rest of the carcass and Dennys world exploded in blinding white pain.

~~~~~~

He couldn’t stop screaming, it hurt, hurt so bad.  He couldn’t move his leg.  Why couldn’t he move his leg? Every time he tried it hurt.  He had messed himself, there was a smell.  Through tears and screams Henry looked over at the helmet laying in the grass next to him with the name “Denny” stenciled onto the forehead.

“What’s his name.” came from somewhere over him as he was lifted and moved onto something that rolled and bumped.  Every time it bumped  the pain redoubled and shot through him.  

“Don’t give me that shit, you know good god damn well what his name is.”  That was coach. “God damn star running back and you don’t know who he is.

“Sir, I’m over from County which is where we’re going to be taking him because your podunck ER isn’t going to be able to handle this.  Now, what’s the kids name?”

“Denmore, Henry Denmore”  

“Is his family at the game?”

The rest was cut off as Henry was loaded into the back of the ambulance.  The sound of the doors closing was drowned out by yet another scream of pain. After what seemed like an eternity of  waiting the pain became almost tolerable.  Maybe he was just getting used to it. But Henry lay there whimpering, holding as still as possible, knowing in the animal part of his mind that if he moved it would only hurt more.  A door closed somewhere to Henrys side and a kind faced young man appeared through the blur of tears and pain.

“Alright Henry.” The kind faced man said in a gentle voice. “The coach is having someone call your mom and tell her to meet us at the hospital.  I’m going to give you something for the pain.” He smiled reassuringly as he released air from a syringe.  “It’s going to put you to sleep and hopefully when you wake up your leg will have been put to rights.”

A coolness flooded into Henrys arm from his elbow and spread up to his neck.  He could feel his scalp trying to scrabble soothingly off of his head as steely nails began to relax their grip on his leg and become a bearable dull prodding.  In some vague way he was aware of the ambulance pulling into motion, his eyelids heavy and closing on their own.

“Kids out.” the kindly voice said from a distant tunnel.

The ambulance hit a bump and a shock of pain shot through Henry with such force his eyes flew open and small moan escaped his throat.

“It’s a mercy.” said another voice from a little further away,  “That knee is shattered for sure.  Do you think they’ll even be able to...”  The question trailed off into darkness. ~~~~~~~~~~~

A small spark of consciousness flared to life in a smothering darkness.  In the darkness Denny’s voice called. “Here pussy, pussy, pussy.”

There were voices.  Far off, as if coming from the end of a long tunnel.  Muffled but there, talking or arguing, Henry wasn’t sure.  He tried to call out  but his throat was so dry and it hurt.  

“Oh, come. on.  Do I have to carry your dumb ass every where?  You’re going to have to do this one yourself princess. You left me lying in the grass.  They just threw me to the side because you were crying like a little bitch.” Denny said in his teasing voice. “Now. Get up you pussy.”  

White hot pain shot through Henry’s leg, like someone was burning it from the inside out.  He tried to scream but the most he could manage was a hoarse moan that brought the voices from the end of the long dark tunnel closer.

“What the fuck do you mean the school won’t pay for it?  It happened on the fucking football field didn’t it?  Why are you dicking me around on this Bill?”  

“The school will pay for the emergency services and a basic replacement.  Nothing he’ll be able to play ball on.”

“Seriously!?” Mom shrieked, “Henry’s half retarded, if he can’t play ball what the hell else is he going to do?”

“You know as well as I that the pros won’t touch anyone that isn’t Grade A all american beef.” Coach said. “Even if they put a knee in him that could stand up to much more than a daily jog he still wouldn’t be able to play.”

“So they’re going to put the same kind of knee in Henry that they put in old bitches? What’s he going to to do? Walk himself to the grave with the rest of the other useless ass people?  That’s just fucking great!”

Henry fought to open his eyes.  They felt gummy and the lids too heavy.   He was vaguely aware of cool air being blown into his nose by something clamped there.  That was good, Henry wasn’t sure he would be able to breath otherwise.  His throat was so dried, he tried to swallow and that hurt.  “Ask for water dumbass.” Denny sneered in Henry’s ear.  So Henry tried and the pain spiked in his leg again. Denny laughed as Henry’s plea for water turned into another pitiful moan.  

In Henry’s vision the blur that was starting to form into Mom froze in the middle of waving her arms at what appeared to be Coach.   Henry’s eye lids struggled to stay open but they drooped closed again.  With a deep breath of the cool air blowing in his nose he tried swallowing again and found that the sandpaper in his throat decided to give just enough to allow it.  His eyes barely opened into tiny slits, but they stayed open and his vision focused to see his moms face leaning close.  “Wa..ter.” he pleaded in a barely audible whisper.  

“I know it hurts baby.” Mom said in a sickly sweet voice that Henry only remembered hearing when he was a small child. “Here, this will help.”  Henry felt a smallish plastic rod being pressed into his hand and his thumb being wrested on the tip.  “This will help you sleep.” Then Mom mashed his thumb down on a button. Once, twice, three times.  

Consciousness started to slip away from Henry again.  The voices...Mom? Coach?... started up in their urgent tones but they were moving away down the dark tunnel again.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Henry was in rehab, three weeks later.  Using his arms much more than his legs, tired as hell and sweating his balls off.  Why was he so damned weak?    He’d been in the hospital almost two weeks now with next to no visitors. Was laying in bed that long really as hard on the body as all of that?  

Jimmy had come, almost every day, bringing him his homework and news of the outside world.  They had replaced him on the team,  Angela was going to prom with someone else now.  It sucked.

 
“Come on Henry, just a little farther. You’ve almost taken three whole steps” said the physical trainer, Kurt.  A big man, with brown laughing eyes and a bald head.  They had to give Henry  a big trainer to help him up when he fell, to get to the bathroom, to move around.   At 17 Henry  was bigger than most full grown men and heavily muscled from football and weight training.  And he  was still growing.  

Tears burned at the corners of Henry’s eyes, burned along with the burn in his leg, with the ache of the muscles in his arms.  Sweat ran salty and stinging into his eyes.  “I...I can’t.” he gritted through his teeth.  Henry’s arms started to shake, his legs were going rubbery as he tried to drag a foot forward.  It moved, scraping his toes along the rubber grip of the rehab lane.

“There you go Henry! That’s four! Personal best!” Kurt boomed in a kindly voice.

For a brief moment Henry felt a small flame of hope kindle in his chest.  “I’ll be able to walk again!”  he thought.  “But I won’t be able to play ball anymore.  I won’t be going to college.  I’m going to be stuck in this shit town.  The most I’ll be able to do  is push carts at the Shop-Mart.”   Henry’s arms wobbled, his legs collapsed and he went down hard, one arm pit catching on the walkways rail and hanging him there with tears of hopelessness running down his cheeks.  

Henry felt Kurt’s arms under his armpits starting to help him up. “Alright Henry, maybe that’s enough for today.”

“Get the fuck off of me!” Henry growled. “Just let me rot here! Walking or not that’s all I’m going to fucking do.”  

Kurt backed up and squatted in front of Henry.  His soft eyes studied the large crying kid impassively for a long moment.  The bald man looked like he was going to say something, then his eyes refocused on a point behind Henry.  “Looks like you’ve got a visitor.” He said standing and at the same time discreetly dropping a small white sweat cloth into Henry’s lap.  

Kurt moved around the walkway and said in his easy voice. “Hello sir, here to see Henry?”  

“Just for a couple of minutes.”  

Henry sat up a little bit and dislodged his arm from the handrail.  He recognized that voice.  It was Jimmy’s dad, Mr. Taggart.  Under the guise of wiping sweat from his face Henry did his best to clear away the tears.

“Hey Denny.” Mr. Taggart said moving around into Henrys field of vision.  He stepped onto the walkway and leaned on the Handrailing.  “Jimmy said that you could be up and walking on your own in a couple of months.  Less time if you stick with the rehab.” Something heavy and metal clanked against the handrail and Henry turned his head just enough to see what it was.

It was one of those old fashioned welding masks.  The full face type that let him get right up to the weld without having hot sparks fly all over his face.  With a mask like that he he could see how the metal was beading and running and  really make smooth seals and seams.   

“Thing is Denny,” Mr. Taggart continued in a voice as gravely as most of Arizona.  “The Derby at Flag Staff is in 3 months.  Jimmy found a body and an engine to put together for it but I’m not going to be able to help him pull the thing together. I got a big contract with Camp Navajo that’s going to be eating up my time.  I guess the armies gearing up for something or the grunts in boot camp are being too hard on the vehicles there.  Whatever it is I’ll be out there until the summer tuning their stuff up.” Mr. Taggart slid down and squatted next to Henry, setting the Mask on the floor in front of him.  “Now, since you were going to be busy with the rest of the season and baseball in the spring  I was going to see if Shaun Morrision would be able to run the shop and help Jimmy with his derby car while I was gone.”

An involuntary sob shook Henry’s shoulders.  He wouldn’t be playing baseball in the spring either.

Mr. Taggart rested a calloused hand on Henry’s shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze. “You and Jimmy know that shop inside and out.  Hell you’re just as good as any mechanic I’ve ever met, myself included, maybe even better.”  Mr. Taggart paused a moment, then after taking a small breath he removed his hand.   “So here’s the deal.  You get up and walking before I leave in January and you and Jimmy will hold the shop down until I get back in June.”

Henry froze.  Was this for real?

“Dorthy’ll keep the books and take care of the financial side of things.  She does that for me.  Probably wouldn‘t be able to make any money if she didn’t.  But you two will do the work.  30/70 split.  15% to each of you on every invoice that’s paid and 70% to the shop for the overhead. “ Mr. Taggart stood up, his legs and back creaking as he did so.  

Henry turned his head and looked up at Mr. Taggart. Shock and awe painted clearly on Henry’s young face.  Mr. Taggart reached down and put the welding helmet on Henry’s head and pulled the mask down. “Here ya go kid, that’ll keep the fly’s out of your mouth while you mull this over.” Mr. Taggart smiled one of his rare smiles. The lines on his face so pronounced by grit and oil from the shop that every crinkle seemed to jump from his face.  “I need to know before the end of the month so I can have Dorthy draw up the contract.” Mr. Taggart started to turn.

His breath echoed in the mask, blood rushed in his ears.  This was for real wasn’t it?  Denny reached up and clasped a strong hand onto the handrail, then another and with no great effort pulled himself to his feet.  The world moved through his window of vision.  Light filtered by the darkness of the welding lense. He reached up and lifted the filter out of the way, snapping it into place.  The world was still neatly framed within the rectangle of his  vision, but much brighter now.  In his left periphery he could just make out Kurt’s face, eyebrows trying to crawl up onto his bald head.  Mr. Taggarts crinkled and lined smile was even bigger on his weathered face.  

Clenching his teeth against the pain Henry let go of the rail, taking most of the weight on his right leg, but standing all the same, he extended his hand out to Mr. Taggart.  “I’ll be there to work sir.” Mr. Taggart took Denny’s hand in his, and gave a firm pump.

“I’ll have Dorthy start putting the paperwork together.”  He said, then headed for the door.  

Denny reached over and leaned on the railing, nearly doubled over from the exertion but feeling like he could take on anything that came his way.  Who needed to play ball anyways?  He was going to be building, creating, fixing, enhancing.  He was never able to do that on the field.  Just run and hit, and be hit.  Not that it wasn’t fun of course.  Denny loved plowing someone over when driving for the endzone.  But it wasn’t the same sort of satisfaction he got when an engine purred after being fine tuned.  When it gave a throaty growl after being opened up on the back road.  That was a satisfaction that lasted long after the lights of the field shut off.

“Alright Henry, let’s get you back to bed.” Kurt said in his kindly voice as he pulled the wheelchair around.

Denny looked over at the wheelchair and shook his head.  HE wasn’t a pussy.  They’d only been at this for ten minutes.  Football practice lasted for 3 hours after school. He hadn’t even warmed up yet.  Shit, it was time to get back to work.  

“Let’s keep going.” He looked up at Kurt and smiled inside of his Helmet then reached out for the big trainers arm. “And call me Denny.”

~~~~~

It was late in the hospital.  The hall lights had been turned down into a blue fluorescent twilight.  Bright enough to see what was going on out there but dim enough that the patients in their rooms could theoretically sleep comfortably.  Edges of brighter light just outside Henry’s room was accompanied by whispers that told the boy that the nurses were on a break between rounds .  The smell of antiseptic and cleaner blended into something like the smell of a band aid.  Why was that? Why did hospitals smell like band aids?  It didn’t help that the small light on the nightstand next to his hospital bed cast a faint yellow glow giving the walls that not quite flesh peach color of a band-aid.  

Henry rolled his head to the side to eye the gun metal welding mask sitting below the yellow lamp.  He almost let himself smile but the faint sound of metal tapping on plastic drew his attention.  

For some unknown reason that sound filled his heart with a dread he hadn’t felt since he had found his father, head dripping blood on the carpet, and the barrel of the gun still hanging out of his mouth.   Somehow the sight of the old revolver had caught in his fathers teeth and refused to fall when the man’s head had snapped back from the gunshot.  The unfortunate positioning gave the corpse an almost comical look of child with an overbite sucking on a lollipop.  Henry had never been able to eat a sucker after that, or a popsicle for that matter.  He had tried once but the smell of burnt flesh, blood, and brains had come back to him so hard he had thrown up  before even tasting the bomb-pop.  

Henry turned his head towards the sound.  There, looming at the foot of his bed was a mountain of a man.  The man was tapping the giant wrench that hung over the counter at Mr. Taggart’s shop on the plastic railing of the hospital bed.

A voice rolled out from behind a battered and scarred welding mask. “ ‘Bout time I got your attention ya little pussy.”   Henry could hear the smile, no the sneer, in the mans voice.  The slab of a man continued the tapping, massive arm muscles bunching and rolling under the cotton work shirt that tightly sheathed them.  A massive leather gloved hand reached down and grabbed a hold of Henry’s left knee and squeezed.  Henry tried to pull away as pain exploded in the leg but the man had him in a grip like a vise.  “Oh, don’t run away Henry, we’re just getting started.”  Without releasing Henry’s knee the Giant bent down and reached for something sitting on the floor.  The whining sound of a torch on and spitting flames met the boys ears and the blue flame lit the mask the man wore with the light of fire.  “It’s time for you to wake up.”  The man slid his grip down to Henry’s ankle and then slowly started moving the torch towards the now exposed knee, scars still red and pink from the surgery.  

“No, please, don’t do this.” Henry sobbed.  “I don’t deserve this.”

“Oh yes you do,” the voice sneered from behind the scarred mask.  “And you know why too you little pussy.”

The blue flame moved closer.  Henry thrashed and screamed the howl of a trapped animal.  He reached for the call button and smashed it with all of his might.  But the flame met his leg, seared the flesh, burnt away muscle and bone exposing the rot below.  

“Wake up Henry, wake up before you shit yourself.”  

~~~~~~~~~~

Henry woke screaming and clutching his knee through the generic Wal-mart BDUs.  “NOOOOOOOOOOooooo!”   He rolled from the cot in the small padded cell onto the floor trying to hold the pain away.  Tears and snot ran liberally down his face. “Please Denny no, make it stop hurting, make it stop.”  

“Get up and tell them then, tell them I need my face back.”  Dennys voice sneered inside of Henry’s head.  “And take your pants off, I told you to get up before your shit yourself.”

Henry, still laying on the floor.  Took off his pants amongst the tears, snot, and pain. Crawled to the back wall of the cell dragging the underwear full of his own mess. Henry pulled himself up to his knees, sobbing.   With his own feces he wrote. “Denny needs his face back.”  He let the underpants drop to the floor and face against the wall slid back down as though he had just ran a marathon.

“Alright ya little girl.” Denny said in Henry’s head. “Now get up and go wash your hands, and the rest of you while you’re at it.  The pants are going to still smell like shit but I can take care of that IF we get out.”  Henry, mechanically, complied.  The pain easing as he followed Dennys instructions.  After awhile, cleaned as best he and the pants could be, Henry pulled the still stinking things on and collapsed into  a dreamless sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sometime later Henry was awakened by the sound of his cell door opening and his ears popping from the change in pressure.  From outside he heard a voice. “Come on Denny, it is time to go, and quickly.”  Henry pulled himself to his feet and shambled to the opening.  

Fernando looked back at him keeping the pistol he held trained down the hallway, the rest of their traveling companions holding various defensive position watching every way at once, and armed.  “You do not smell good at all.” Fernando eyed Henry up and down, cocked his head to the side looking behind him and an involuntary shiver ran through the mercenary before he turned his attention back to the rest of the group. “He is ready.” then under his breath. “I think.”

Henry was lead along hallways and into the elevator they had been brought up in?  Down in?  What did it matter to him?  The world was dead.  Jimmy was dead, Mr. Taggart was dead.  Mom was dead.  

After a while, and with no resistance they were brought to a motor pool.  There were their vehicles, the chopper still strapped to the flat bed, and Denny’s truck gleaming like a giant black creature waiting in the corner.  Henry followed the rest of the crew over to the chopper to find their gear unceremoniously dumped in it’s belly.  

There was Dennys face peeking out from under someones back pack.  

Henry lunged forward, bumping someone out of the way, and snatched it.  With shaking hands Henry slipped Dennys face over his head.

Denny’s steady hands flipped the welding filter up and snapped it into it’s holding position and looked around at the world neatly framed in his rectangle of vision.  Everyone was gathering up their gear, strapping on weapons and checking pockets.  Denny looked around for Natasha.

He found her and put a heavy hand on her shoulder “Hey, do you still have that C4?” Denny asked in his usual laughing voice.  

The lithe, dangerous, woman looked up at him. “Yeah, how much do you need?”

Denny started heading for his truck, “I missed you Harriet.  Hopefully those filthy army men haven’t done anything to you I can’t fix.”  He said in a low purring voice that just barely escaped under the mask.  Then in his usual boom. “All of it.”

“All of it?” Natasha choked. “What the hell for?”

Denny popped Harriet’s driver side door open and was met by the smell of pee and dog shit.  There was a whine coming from the back seat.  Denny poked his head over the back seat and saw one of the bags of dog food torn open, kibble spilled everywhere and Pooch curled up in the mess.  

“POOCH!” Denny laughed. “I thought they had popped ya girl!”  Pooches tail wagged and she let out a small yip before bouncing up and over the seat into the giant mans arms.  Denny caught the big pup as if she weighed nothing and spun her around, laughing, then set her down to let her run and stretch her legs.

Natasha came strolling over carrying his shotgun and the satchel of C4.  She passed him the shotgun. “What do you need all this for?”

Denny breached the over-under to check if it was loaded.  It wasn’t.  He shifted his rectangular gaze to the satchel, then to the woman that held it.  “Never mind, don’t need it now.”

Fernando strolled over, tossing Denny a box of shells as he did. “Hey there my smelly friend.   I need you to do something to these cars and trucks to make sure they can’t follow us.”

The rectangular view of his world shifted as Denny turned to take in the rest of the motor pool.   “Yeah, I think I can do something about that.” Then the giant laughed his big booming laugh as he dove into Harriets tool box.